riverviewlogs | They say if you die in a dream. you die in real life [open]

who: Ronan Lynch and others
what: After being attacked by his own nightmares, Ronan recovers in the hospital and thinks about how much he hates himself. People come to tell him he’s an idiot or laugh. Who knows.
when: November 19 to late November
where: Riverview hospital
warnings: Self-loathing, references to past suicidal ideation, will update as needed

Not much impressed Ronan and the advanced medical t. The first day, while his stomach healed, he lay in bed viciously chewing on one of his leather wristbands, having thrown the other at the wall. The next few days, when he could bear to stand, he got up and paced and punched a wall before being forced back into bed.

Mostly, he stared at the walls and imagined tearing them apart and he hated. Oh God, did he hate and it was all at himself. He did it again. He did a-fucking-gain. The thoughts ran through his mind in a spiral. The last time this happened, his best friend had been there to question and judge and make him promise. Ronan said that it wouldn’t happen again. He'd meant it.

He lay in bed, gnawing on the leather bracelet like a dog. The hole in the band grew until it began to break into pieces. Only then did he stop, in order to tear it apart. Well, he tried to. What actually happened washe gritted his teeth in pain and snapped the band hard against his bed.

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Ivar snorted like an angry horse, but he didn't press the issue. He'd made it clear to Ronan exactly what he thought of Adam and that's what the whole point had been. "I'd stop yelling if I were you. That can't be good for the healing process."

It was all Ivar could do not to reach out and shake Ronan until his head snapped back and forth. Gods, he was so stupid. The worst part was that Ivar could even see part of his point of view. But the difference is that Ivar, while emotional, was able to put that side of himself aside when he wanted something. He used whatever he needed to get that, whether it was emotions or cold tactics that would win out. If he'd been in over his head, he would have eventually swallowed his considerable pride, and asked for help.

"You've got a bad habit of hurting people even when you don't mean to." There's still that acid sting of bitterness in his tone. Let Ronan stew on what he meant by those particular words for a while. Ivar wasn't going to spell it out for him, especially not now when he was in the middle of being yelled at.

Ronan glared at Ivar. He wished he could just shut him up and they could go back to riding chariots and doing other adrenaline fueled activities instead of yelling at each other. Finally, Ronan got a sense of what it was like to talk to himself and found it as enjoyable as he expected.

"Well damn, Ivar. I've never heard that before. How could you help me? I told you I don't want a babysitter." Ronan's mind tried to keep up with two diverging lines of thought. One was this conversation, the other was how Ivar was acting. They were related. He knew that. He just had to think.

They were pissed at each other but he still sounded panicked last night. And then the things he said and the way he said it, because he could have easily said the same to Adam when he was dating--

No. Oh, no. Ronan was not thinking straight. This was all from the blood loss and whatever medicine they gave him. That wasn't what was really going on.

Ivar's fury, while great, came in two forms. One was the white-hot intensity that had allowed him to easily slaughter a monster last night and caused him to initially yell at Ronan. The other was dull and red, the kind that sustained the Viking through all the normal hardships life threw at him.

Right now, the first kind was fading out, leaving just Ivar's usual nature. They were now at a point when an immovable object met an unstoppable force. "I didn't offer to be your damn babysitter. I'm offering help. Figure out what that means yourself, Christian boy. I've made it clear you're not allowed to go through this on your own again."

Had he known what great discovery Ronan had finally made, he likely would have left the room entirely in mortification. He'd half-hoped Ronan would be dense enough never to figure out that Ivar had feelings for him. That would only add in complications.

Ronan's expression went from angry to-- well, angry but also baffled. Any time he tried to make sense of the thought of Ivar liking him, he felt like he was walking through an ever deepening swamp. He couldn't get very far before turning back feeling worse off than before.

He had to force the muscles in his face back to their usual alignment. Normally his surliness was natural, but he knew how to make it more pronounced as needed. Soon he looked as cold as before though his rage had subsided.

"Is this about your shitty knives commercial? I'm not gonna pay you to teach me how to slice and dice people."

Ivar was perceptive enough to pick up that Ronan's expression was changing, but he wasn't sure why. Unless he'd become even more doltish than he usually was in the past minute, he couldn't figure out why he would suddenly look confused. Unless he'd figured out-- No, it couldn't be that.

"You could certainly use a few lessons!" Quick as a flash, he'd drawn out one of his knives, putting it to Ronan's throat to prove his point. Then he pulled it away. "At least that way you could stab one of those things before it stabs you next time."

In fact, Ivar was already planning out how he could train Ronan when he got out of the hospital. His mind was already made up regarding this. He wasn't going to leave his friend defenseless against the night horrors that came from his own mind.

Ronan instinctively jerked away. His reaction was too slow for Ivar, but still pronounced. He shuffled back on the bed, almost overbalancing, and threw up his hands up to shove away the knife that was suddenly gone. Once pain overrode instinct, he pressed his good hand to his stomach. For a second he was afraid his stitches split open, but he didn't feel blood.

He closed his eyes and yelled curses until he could form actual sentences "Damn it, Ivar! You didn't have to pull a fucking knife on me. I get your fucking point, alright." He slowly leaned back. "Jesus."

The fierceness in Ivar's eyes dimmed a little bit after he proved his point to Ronan. That's what he'd been trying to get through that thick shaved head this entire time. He began to roll his wheelchair back towards the door.

"Good! We'll start after you get out of here." Ivar seemed a lot calmer now that he had a plan of action. It would save him a lot of time spent worrying over Ronan's sorry hide.

"Asshole," Ronan muttered but finally there was no heat in his voice. No affection either, but it was a start.

Though if Ronan was right, maybe it would be best to keep any sign of affection minimal. If he was. Because he couldn't- Fuck it. His body hurt too much to think, never mind his head.

"I'm paying you back for that punch!" he called after Ivar.

Once was alone, Ronan was going to curse either until he'd purged his pain and frustration from his system or he passed out. It'd probably be the latter.

They say if you die in a dream. you die in real life [open]

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